On the Wall
by mahc
Summary: JEDDONNA 10th in the As I Was Drifting Away series. Donna has something to tell Jed, but can't quite find the right time.
1. It'll Keep

It's been over a year since I wrote "A Dagger Unseen," the ninth story in the Jed/Donna _As I Was Drifting Away_ series. Since then, I've written several Jed/Abbey stories, but I knew I couldn't abandon my secret enjoyment of Jed and Donna.

Since I was so mean to them in "A Dagger Unseen," I've let up a little in this one, which is not nearly as complicated, and will probably be a transition story to give them a little break until the next crisis. Don't worry, though, there is still conflict. Wouldn't be fanfic (or a story, for that matter) without it.

This is, of course, AU, but I've tried to follow some of the show's timeline; however, I'm pretty much completely ignoring the sixth season. Jed has not had a relapse. Josh is still Deputy Chief of Staff. And we ARE NOT skipping an entire year of Jed's presidency.

Hope you enjoy!

On the Wall – Chapter One

A West Wing Story

_As I Was Drifting Away_ Series

by MAHC

POV: Donna

Spoilers: None, really. Maybe a little about the Middle East talks.

Rating: PG-13 - Teen

Disclaimer: Jed and Donna are not my creation. J.T. is, however.

"In the dime stores and bus stations,  
People talk of situations,  
Read books, repeat quotations,  
Draw conclusions on the wall."

Bob Dylan

"Love Minus Zero/No Limit"

1965

It had been the night of the State of the Union, Donna knew it. She could still feel the pulsing heat of his release deep inside her, could still hear his gasp of ecstasy at her ear, could still taste the sweetness of his mouth on hers as they came down from the exquisite high. No doubt. It had been that night.

She had suspected for several weeks, with several minor – and one major – clues, but a morning visit to Dr. Carlstein confirmed it. With a timid smile, she lifted her head from Jed's shoulder and propped on one hand, watching him sleep, her gaze flickering from his thick, scattered hair to his beautiful mouth. She leaned over to press a soft kiss on the tiny scar in his brow, the one he acquired the first time she had told him she was pregnant. At least this time he would be lying down already and avoid another injury.

What she couldn't avoid was the larger, more violent scar that slashed from the other brow back across his temple – an ominous, malicious reminder of evil in the world, and of how close she had come – they all had come – to devastating tragedy. She kissed it, too, having to lean against him to reach it. He stirred, his eyes opening slightly, crinkling in a slight smile as he came to consciousness with her above him.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair and tuck a bit behind her ear.

"Hey."

"You my alarm clock – this morning?" he wondered, the smile widening.

She noted the slight hesitation that still affected his speech occasionally, but gave thanks daily that it was only on occasion now, when he was especially tired or stressed. He was light years ahead of where he had been two months before on that nerve-wracking State-of-the-Union night that turned into an amazing display of willpower and outright stubbornness.

"Yep," she confirmed, suddenly deciding exactly how she wanted to get him stirring. "It's my job to get you up."

He grunted a laugh, and she was sure would have cracked a terrible joke if she had not slid down his body and started to make good on her declaration. Instead, the words were sucked away by his gasp as her tongue flicked out to lick at the erection already strong and eager beneath the sheets.

A smirk touched her lips at his groan. She had taken him by surprise, judging from the uncharacteristic lack of control she felt from his body. Head thrown back, he was thrusting up toward her mouth almost immediately. Shifting around for a better angle, she pushed the covers completely off him and kneeled between his outstretched legs, totally committing herself to the action.

A choked attempt to relieve her of the task failed at his lips, and he finally gave in to the overwhelming need she had created, arching against her until the hard pulses shuddered through him and pumped into her again and again.

"Oh, God," he groaned, finally collapsing, arms and legs flung wide, chest heaving. "Oh, God." He kept his eyes closed.

More than a little proud of herself, she relaxed onto him, her breasts pressing against his softening genitals, her teeth tugging at the swirls of hair on his abdomen. "No, just me," she teased, then flinched a little at the thought that her comment might have been a tad sacrilegious.

"Oh, Donna," he amended. "You didn't have to – I wasn't expecting – "

"I know. That's why it was so fun."

"It was that," he agreed with another grunt, still not opening his eyes.

Well, it had been fun, but now she realized ruefully that, while he was obviously wiped out, her nerves sang for relief. Maybe she should have planned her impromptu seduction a little better.

He groaned again and blew out a hard breath before opening his eyes and moving his hands down to tug her up his body. When they were hip to hip, he ran his fingers through her hair again and pulled her down into a kiss, deep and slow.

When she drew back, he smiled warmly and cradled her face in his palms. "That wasn't very gentlemanly of me," he apologized, placing two fingers across her lips when she tried to protest. "Let me make it up to you."

Oh yes. That would be just fine, she decided, as he eased his body lower. Just fine.

Much later, he lay between her legs, his head resting just above the pubic bone, his fingers running gentle circles over her stomach as she tried to calm her trembling limbs. God, that had been good – as usual. Absently, her own fingers toyed with his hair, smoothing it back down after she had clung to the thick locks through her wild orgasm.

This was it – the perfect moment to tell him, but for some reason, she hesitated, uncertainty checking her impulse. He would be glad, right? He had told her only a few months before, in the limo as they brought J.T. home, that he would welcome more children.

Still, this was big news, especially with him still recovering from the "incident." She had taken to referring to it that way, as if avoiding the jarring term "assassination attempt" would make it any less traumatic.

"Jed, there's something I need to tell you – "

The demanding wail drowned out her words, summoning every ounce of attention from parents who were more than happy to give it. At four months, J.T. Bartlet had learned that these folks were at his beck and call. Donna wondered if it was too early to spoil a child, but it didn't really matter. He would be ruined regardless of their intentions. In addition to the love of his parents, he could claim unlimited doting from his sisters, Aunt C.J., Aunt Margaret, Uncle Josh, Uncle Toby, and especially Uncle Leo.

Her husband groaned and pushed up from the bed. "I'll get him."

She nodded, not too disappointed, and perhaps a little relieved. There was plenty of time for her news. Well, maybe not plenty.

As he slipped on a pair of sweat pants, however, the ring of the phone intruded into their family moment, and she knew instinctively that the world would demand attentions of its own.

She lifted the receiver, waving him on. "Hello?"

"Donna?"

Damn. Leo. This early in the morning that was never good news.

"Yeah." An attempt at masking her irritation didn't work.

"I'm really sorry to – "

"I know," she interrupted, a little too quickly.

He took the tone in stride, having heard much worse from both Abbey and her throughout his years of stealing Jed Bartlet away at the worst times. "I need to talk with him."

He's not here. I don't know where he is. He won't be back until next Tuesday. "Hang on."

"So then the Big, Bad Republican said, 'I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow the House down – '" Jed stepped through the door between their bedroom and the nursery, his son bouncing happily in his arms.

She laughed, finishing the sentence for him. "' – and then the Senate, and then the Court.'"

He grinned, looking at J.T., but addressing her. "A good moral tale."

At the sight of his mother, the tow-headed youngster pushed with pudgy legs toward her and babbled with excitement, having connected her from birth with warmth, security, and – his main concern at the moment – food.

His voice tugged at her maternal depths, both emotionally with the sweetness in her heart and physically with the sweetness of her milk. Smiling at both of her men, she held out her arms as her husband passed off the child whose immediate need he could not satisfy. He brushed her lips before he stood again.

Jerking her chin toward the waiting receiver, she said simply, "Leo."

With a grimace, he picked up the phone. "Hey."

She watched carefully, trying to judge the importance of the call, the severity of whatever crisis – and it always was a crisis – had crashed their morning. The sigh was the first sign. The hand brushing through the hair was the second. The expletive finished it up. She refrained from reminding him that J.T. was in the formative stages of language. Heaven forbid that his first words would be mimics of certain colorful metaphors his father carelessly dropped.

With a final sigh, he returned the receiver to its cradle and faced her. The apology in his eyes told the story. "I'm sorry. I've gotta go."

Naturally.

"Serious?"

His lips pressed together for a moment before he answered. "Possibly."

She had learned enough in the past two years to know not to probe, but he volunteered the information anyway.

"North Korea again."

Her spine stiffened, so much that J.T. grunted in protest at the shift in position. Ever since the shooting, she had hated hearing that name, dreaded reading about the almost-fatal attempt. "What – about it?"

He turned to her, his eyes betraying him with their uncertainty. He was pondering whether to be honest, she could see. Finally, lowering his head so he wasn't looking at her anymore, he admitted, "We have some information about – testing."

"Nuclear weapons?" she guessed. It wasn't hard.

He nodded. "It came from rather secret sources."

"So you can't let them know you know without revealing that you have spies."

"Something like that."

She smiled through her disappointment. With everything else he had to worry about, she was determined to keep her name off that list. "Go," she instructed. "We'll be fine."

Leaning over, he kissed her gently, his hand stroking along her jaw, coming critically close to dissolving her resolve to let him leave. "You said you had something to tell me?" he murmured against her lips.

Oh, yeah. But this wasn't the time. She wanted it to be just right. She wanted his full attention. She wanted them to lie in each other's arms and reflect on it. "It'll keep," she assured him.

"Okay."

One more kiss and he was pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, then hurrying out the door to meet the harsh realities of the world. As usual, she lifted up a prayer for his strength and wisdom.

This time, she added a hope for her own.


	2. Something I Need to Talk with You About

On the Wall – Chapter Two

A West Wing Story

_As I Was Drifting Away_ Series

by MAHC

POV: Donna

Spoilers: None

Rating: Teen

Disclaimer: J.T. is mine. Jed and Donna are not.

Pressing a cool hand to her forehead, Donna gritted her teeth and made an attempt at normality as she eased back into her office, knowing she could do nothing about the newly greenish tint of her alabaster skin. She was nearly twelve weeks, the time she could supposedly anticipate the end of morning sickness and the beginning of Jed's favorite trimester – when her libido returned with a vengeance.

"Mrs. Bartlet?"

Turning gingerly, she faced Margaret with the calmest smile she could muster. Perhaps it would be sufficient.

"Geez, you look terrible."

Perhaps not.

"Well, thanks." She forced a laugh, waving a hand to deflect the other woman's observation.

"No. Really," Margaret insisted, oblivious to her friend's signals. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Donna slipped behind her desk, but the change of position – or height – or who-knew-what – propelled her from the chair and back into the bathroom.

When she emerged, Margaret stared at her for a few seconds, then asked frankly, "When are you due?"

Damn. But then Margaret had been the first one to know about J.T., hadn't she? Still, she gave it one last shot. "I don't know what you are – "

The look stopped her cold. No words. No need. With a sigh, she propped on the edge of the desk. "November third."

"Election Day," Margaret noted.

"Midterms," Donna clarified with a smile. "Besides, Jed's not running for anything, anyway." Not anymore.

"Except maybe 'Father of the Year," Margaret quipped. "Is he thrilled?"

She remained silent, turning away from her friend's probing eyes.

"Donna? He's thrilled, right?"

"He – he doesn't know."

"What? He doesn't know? Why on earth not?"

"I haven't told him." Duh.

"Donna, if you are due in early November, you'd have to be several weeks – "

"Twelve."

"You're three months pregnant and your husband doesn't know?" Horror crossed her face. "The President is the father, right?"

Dear God. "Margaret! How can even ask – "

"Sorry. I don't what I was thinking. You guys are all over each other – "

"Nevermind. Of course, he is the father. He's the only person I've had sex with in two years." Longer than that if she were honest.

"Visual," Margaret accused, closing her eyes. "TMI."

"Well, you started it."

The red-head's tone fell abruptly from teasing to serious. "You really haven't told him?"

"I just haven't found the right moment. He's been busy. We haven't – " Donna sighed. It was more complicated than it sounded.

Her friend nodded, but those expressive eyes sent a clear message: Tell him. Tell him soon.

It was a message Donna had been trying to follow for a month.

"It'll keep," she had assured her husband the night he had been called away to deal with North Korea and nuclear weapons – again – and she was right. It had kept. It had kept for almost four more weeks.

It had kept so long she began to wonder if she would be calling him from the delivery room to make the announcement. It wasn't his fault, really, unless she blamed him for being President. Korea monopolized his time. Or the budget. Or social security. Or the upcoming economic summit in Ottawa.

Always something. But Margaret was right: tonight – tonight was it. She really had little choice. Much longer and he would notice the slight bulge that had begun to push out below her navel – a bulge that would remain slight only a few more weeks. So she waited, having fed J.T. and put him down, taken a nice bath – not as warm as she usually liked, since the doctor had warned her about extreme temperatures – and settled under the covers.

She waited. And waited.

It was well past ten when he returned to the Residence, fatigue weighing down his shoulders, tugging at his legs. But he smiled at her, as always, and leaned over the back of the chair she had curled up in to give her a soft kiss.

"What are you still doing up?" he asked. "I asked Charlie to – "

"He called. I just wanted to wait for you." She had determined that this was the night, come hell or high water, that he would know.

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Pressing another kiss into her hair, he shrugged out of his jacket and stepped away. "I always like it when you wait for me," he quipped, then grimaced. "But I'm not quite done for the night."

She arched a brow in question.

"Korea," he explained simply, pulling a bulky report from his briefcase, and she heard the regret in his voice.

Dropping into the nearest chair, he kicked off his shoes, drew his glasses out of his pocket, and balanced the thick manuscript in his lap.

Well, damn.

For several minutes, she took the liberty of watching him, of assessing his health, both mental and physical. He was fit, she determined in satisfaction. The strenuous exercise his doctors had prescribed toward his recovery had the bonus of a trimmer waist and harder muscles, not that she didn't already find him sexy enough. Now, though, she spent even more time running her fingers over the definition of his triceps, across the bulge of his thigh – and other bulges. These touches invariably led to reciprocal caresses from him and those led to the deepest touches of all.

Her eyes lingered at the point where his shirt collar opened, giving her a delicious peek at swirling gray chest hair. He liked to undo the first three buttons as he walked through the bedroom door, if he was in for the night. It was always a good sign. Tonight, his hands were already in motion with that very action before he even greeted her.

But any hopes for intimacy – at least for a while – were dashed by his one-track focus on the report.

"I understand." She did, but that didn't make it any easier.

She envied the papers their location, wished she were in their place, straddling him, taking his strong, hot thickness deep inside her, feeling their release slick their bodies. She ached for him but tried not to project her need. It would be easy, she knew, to distract him. He would go willingly, but she was a patriot, too, and doing her part sometimes meant letting the country – or at least the Joint Chiefs – have him for a while. Still, this moment, one of the few they had had alone in the past weeks, might be her best chance to break the news.

The clocked ticked in solid rhythm, its beat steady and reassuring. A good thirty minutes passed before she decided the hell with patriotism. Maybe now was the time, now in this tranquil bubble that protected them for just a few moments from the sharp needle of reality.

She unfolded from the chair and swirled around him, her silken gown sliding over his shoulder, caressing his cheek. Lifting the papers from his lap and substituting her body, she settled back against him, legs draped over the chair arm.

Irritation warred with amusement in those blue depths. "Can I help you?" he asked, the smile hiding just under the surface.

"No thanks. I'm fine," she replied, snuggling into his neck, enjoying the smell of lingering after shave, even this late at night.

One hand slid up her arm; the other ran down her thigh. "You sure I can't help you?" he probed, letting the heat of seduction warm his tone.

Well, as long as he was asking –

"Come to think of it," she purred, raising a leg to brush against his groin. The purr grew to a groan as the hardness burned through his trousers.

"You know, I really needed to – "

Her lips stole the weak protest from his mouth. He didn't seem to mind too much. When she drew back, he grunted pleasantly.

"I guess Korea can wait," he decided.

Oh yeah. Korea could wait.

She opened her mouth to whisper in his ear, but his invading tongue stole her words. At the same time, his fingers slid beneath her gown and she decided that Korea could wait, and her news could wait.

But she couldn't wait.

Donna listened to her husband's strong heartbeat beneath her ear and smiled. The last time she had interrupted his work with impromptu sex had been that wild ride on the floor of his study when he was relieving frustration over the agonizing preparation for the State of the Union. At least they had made it to the couch this time. An afghan covered their naked bodies, both in protection from the cooling air of the room and from any sudden entrances. Experience was a good teacher.

As her muscles still struggled to regain control, she lay against his chest, letting her fingers toy with the soft hair. Her message had kept far too long. Things were peaceful, now, idyllic. It was time. They wouldn't have a better opportunity.

"Jed, there's something – "

"Listen," he began at the same time.

They chuckled together.

"Go ahead," she prompted, and berated herself as a coward. There was time still. What would one more minute hurt?

But she wasn't too sure she should have backed off when he hesitated. Raising herself, she saw his eyes drop from hers alarmingly.

With a deep sigh, he began. "Okay."

But another sigh followed. Then a throat clearing. Any earlier lightness sank under the weight of his obvious burden. Finally, he shifted and said, "Maybe this isn't the right time, Donna, but we've had so little time together lately, and there's something I need to talk with you about."

_Something I need to talk with you about._ Had anyone ever started a sentence like that and actually delivered anything but disastrous news?

"Okay," she managed.

He took a careful breath, as if he were steadying himself for a tough moment. "Listen, since – since the 'incident' I have been reconsidering some things."

Incident? She hated that word. Her eyes tracked involuntarily to the scar at his temple.

Then, the other word registered. Reconsidering? Reconsidering what things? Her stomach flipped.

"A few months ago, we – we talked about – we discussed whether we – "

Alarms rang in her brain, buzzed through her nerves.

"Well, sometimes events make you look at things differently." He paused, drew a deep breath, and looked directly at her. "I've been thinking about what would have happened to you if – if I had died."

No, no. Don't go there. She sat, catching her breath, not wanting even to hear the possibility. This was not remotely close to what she had imagined he would say. "Jed – "

Sitting up himself, he caught her hands in his and shushed her. "Listen. I need to say this. You need to know this."

No. I don't need to know this. I don't want to know this.

"If something should – happen, of course, you'll be taken care of financially. It's arranged in the will – "

Will? Dear God, why was he talking about a will? They had just made love, for Pete's sake. And it had been hot, and passionate, and physical. Now he was at death's door?

"And you know Leo – well, I'm not worried about that."

At least somebody wasn't.

His hand cupped her face; his thumb caressed her cheek. "I'm concerned with what I'd leave you with – you and J.T. It's hard enough raising children with two committed parents, but for a single parent – "

"Stop!" she pleaded, heart sinking with sudden realization of what he was saying. Not now. Of all times, not now. "Why do we need to talk about this?"

"Donna," he insisted, squeezing her hands. "I know it's not pleasant. But it's reality. I'm almost thirty years older than you. I have MS. I'm in a job that invites every terrorist and nutcase out there to take a shot at me. Two attempts already. The odds that I will die first – "

"I know," she said flatly, heart sick.

"I don't want you to be burdened."

Too late for that. Love was always a burden, simply for the inevitability of its loss. All the money in the world couldn't lift that weight.

He slid a hand up her arm and she braced herself for what was coming.

"That's why I've decided that I don't think you should – "

The blare of the phone drowned out his voice. She fought between frustration and relief. The interruption would keep the dreaded words from being said, at least a little while longer.

He sighed ruefully and stretched toward the end table to lift the receiver. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

It wasn't good, she could tell. But then, was it ever?

"Leo's on his way up."

Damn Leo. And thank God for Leo.

"Now? It's almost midnight, Jed. Can't it wait until morning?" Even as she said it, she knew it couldn't. She had vowed not to interfere with his work – at least as long as his work didn't interfere with his health.

"Donna, what I was saying before – "

"We don't have time to get into this now," she declared hastily, contradicting her previous protest. "You have to meet with Leo."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Later," he agreed.

She nodded back, nerves numb.

The knock broke their tension. Leo must have been in the West Wing already – or more than likely, he had never left. Donna heard the stifled groan as Jed stepped back into his pants and crossed toward the door. She pulled the afghan up around her chin.

"Mister President?"

"Hey, Leo."

Leo stepped in, eyes widening as he realized just how intimate his intrusion had been. Regret darkened his features. "Ah, geez. I'm really sorry."

She waved him off. It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

"Yeah, see, we have a bit of a problem with Israel."

Donna almost smiled at the understatement. No problem with Israel could be described as a "bit" of a problem.

Shrugging back into his shirt, Jed seemed to be on the same track. "A bit as in – "

"A bit as in the Middle East Accords are in danger of complete collapse if you don't talk to the prime minister in the next three minutes," Leo explained.

Her husband pressed his lips together, and she easily read the frustration, both personal and professional. "You think we could just move them to a whole nother continent?" he asked his chief of staff as he tugged on his shoes. "How about Australia? There's not much in the outback. Or Antarctica? Plenty of room there."

Leo shrugged. "I'll call Two Men and a Truck."

Not bothering with the jacket, he turned to her, eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry, Donna. I'll be back."

But she wasn't sorry, not really. Whatever he was going to say would remain tucked away in his brain for a while longer. She wasn't ready to hear it, yet, because she had all too good of an idea what it was going to be. The hints were clear enough. He didn't want to leave her burdened if he – she swallowed, forcing her mind to think the terrible words – if he died. He was worried about leaving her alone with a child to raise.

Her hand fell to her abdomen.

He was going to tell her he didn't think they should have more children.

And she was going to tell him he had made that particular announcement a little too late

And then what would happen?


	3. Homarus Americanus

On the Wall – Chapter Three

A _West Wing_ Story

_As I Was Drifting Away_ Series

by MAHC

POV: Donna

Spoilers: None

Rating: PG/Teen

Disclaimer: The only character I created is J.T. The others belong to – well, you know already.

Donna Bartlet stared at the healthcare report before her, the words blurring into nothing more than meaningless symbols to her frustrated brain. Finally deciding to surrender the futile attempt to get anything constructive done, she sighed and pushed back from her desk, her eye catching the flash of gold of her wedding band.

Instantly, memories of that day returned: the panic of wondering if her future husband would escape Washington and arrive in time; the excitement of seeing him waiting for her, so handsome, so happy; the warmth of hearing their vows and feeling the depth of their commitment; the tingling anticipation of that night together as husband and wife.

It all came back in a rush, the joy, the hope – the future.

One year. It had been one year exactly. And he hadn't noticed.

Not that she had seen him long enough even to probe. Her first and last glimpse of him that morning had been as he flipped on his coat and headed out the door.

"I'll call you later," he had tossed back over his shoulder. That was when she had realized the disappointing truth.

He had forgotten.

At first, she tried to justify such a glaring error. He had been busy, certainly, had spent hours with the leadership and his staff pounding out the final – and optimistic – agreement over Korea. The weeks of negotiations, of late-night sessions and early morning phone calls had paid off. She could forgive him for being so buried under such important business.

Still, there was no way around the bottom line: he had forgotten.

Damn it.

"Ma'am?"

Donna jerked involuntarily at the voice. Her chief-of-staff stood at the door, a grin stretching her mouth.

She plastered an innocuous smile on her face. "Yes?"

"You doing all right?"

An eyebrow lifted suspiciously. "Fine."

"Feeling okay?"

Now the brow came down with even deeper suspicion. "Yes."

"Can I get you anything? Crackers or juice or seltzer water, maybe?"

The First Lady narrowed her eyes. "How did you find out?"

Her chief of staff smiled, only slightly chagrined. "I can just tell."

Panicked, Donna scanned down her body.

Terri laughed and admitted, "Margaret's called over here about every half hour to check on you, and her questions have been less than subtle."

"Let me guess – have I been throwing up, do I need some crackers or Sprite, do I look pale?"

"Pretty close," Terri agreed; then the humor in her voice softened. "When are you due?"

"November."

"I'll bet the President's beside himself."

A dull pain throbbed in her chest. She bit her lip for a moment before admitting, "The President – uh – doesn't know yet."

"Oh."

"I just haven't found the right time."

Terri pushed the fading smile back to her face. "I know he'll be thrilled," she decided confidently. "He was pretty goofy over J.T., if you don't mind me saying."

"He still is," Donna agreed, trying to keep the sadness from her tone. "And I don't mind."

The chief didn't ask if she meant that she didn't mind her saying, or that she didn't mind his being goofy. Maybe it didn't matter – except that she did mind one thing. She minded thinking he might not be so goofy about another child. Minded wondering if a new baby might not receive the same doting attention he gave his first-born son.

"Until then, tick a lock," Terri promised. "But you might want to advise Margaret to sneak around a little better when she checks up on you."

This brought a true smile. "Easier said than done."

"True," she agreed, stepping back toward the door. "Still, if you want to be the one to tell the President – "

"Terri?"

The chief turned expectantly. "Ma'am?"

What if he isn't happy? What if he doesn't want another child? What if – "I could go for a cup of tomato juice – V8 or something like that."

"You got it."

There was no denying it now. If Terri knew, who else might find out? Despite the obstacles that tried to deter her, she knew she had to tell Jed. Whatever his reaction was, it wouldn't change just because she wasn't brave enough.

Her chief of staff returned with the requested juice, but by that time, the decision was made. Donna left it on her desk and stepped into the hallway.

As she strode through the corridors, a new emotion began to creep up through her soul, an emotion that drew from the frustration, from the disappointment, from the fear. It was not unknown to her, but it had been rare in their relationship – at least to this point – so rare that she wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. Nevertheless, it was present, and growing with each step toward the West Wing.

Anger.

In some strangely calm corner of her brain, she assessed the source of her anger. It wasn't to identify. Of course, the fact that he had forgotten their anniversary – their FIRST anniversary – created no small amount of hurt. That would be cause enough, but add to that the late hours that had kept him away from his wife and son, and they had a credible conflict on their hands. Still, something deeper lay at the root of her feelings, something she had pushed back again and again, unwilling to approach him with it.

Until now.

It was time to state the raw, harsh truth: He had apparently decided on his own that they shouldn't even have any more children.

He had decided. Without her. A decision of such magnitude that it literally could change their lives. How dare he?

Weeks of uncertainty now sharpened into a focused, powerful fury that bristled just beneath the surface of her control by the time she arrived at Debbie Fiderer's desk. From the look on the secretary's face, it would seem her control was tenuous.

"I need to see – "

But before she could make her entrance, the door opened and Josh and the President emerged from that sanctuary, their demeanor jovial, their faces smiling.

Well, hell.

"I think that's all we'll need for the final – " Jed stopped as he saw her, the smile curving wider.

Damn him for being so cute, she thought, fighting to keep her emotional momentum.

Oblivious to her ire, he lifted a hand in greeting, then turned back to Josh. "We'll check it one more time before we send it to the leadership," he said, the fond pat on the younger man's shoulder a gentle dismissal.

"Yes, sir," Josh said, taking the hint. As he passed the First Lady, though, he seemed to remember something, and turned back to his boss. "Oh, by the way, way to go, sir," he grinned, flashing a thumbs-up toward his chief executive. "You da man!"

Donna swallowed a gasp, and tried to skewer her former boss with a pointed frown. How the hell did Josh know? And if Josh knew, wouldn't others know soon – if not already?

Jed raised a brow as he pulled back from the kiss he had brushed against her cheek. Even in her anger, she cherished the warm caress. "Well, thank you there, Josh," he replied, amused. "Of course, I could be 'da man' for any number of things, but what exactly am I 'da man' for this time?"

Donna's glare had caught its target, and Josh finally comprehended his mistaken stumble into domestic complications. His smile collapsed into uncertainty.

"Uh, the – uh – the – uh – the Korean agreement," he hedged. "Nice work." Smooth. Did his hair seem wilder than usual?

"Josh, did you go to another bachelor's party last night?" Jed wondered, cocking his head. "You're the one who's done most of the footwork on that. I would have to concede a significant portion of 'da man' title to you."

"No, sir. I'm just giving credit where credit is due, sir," he insisted, recovering. "You deserve the credit. You are definitely 'da man.' You're the top dog, the head dude, the big cheese – "

Now the President pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, their usual crystal blue darkening in suspicion. "How many?"

"Sir?"

Warily, Donna turned toward him.

"How many seats did we lose?"

"I'm not sure what – "

"I'm just askin' how many seats we lost in the House over whatever the hell debacle you have orchestrated on Capitol Hill."

"Sir," Josh protested, indignantly, "when have I ever – okay, strike that – "

Mild panic fizzing in her chest, Donna flashed through several scenarios that would remove them from this awkward situation, but the simplest – and most logical – fell right into her lap.

"Mister President?" The interruption came from Leo inside the Oval. Donna breathed both a prayer of thanks and a curse of irritation for the intervention. Josh closed his eyes in relief.

"Do you have a minute before the next meeting?" the chief of staff asked.

Jed gave Josh a last dubious look, then gave his wife another quick kiss before he strode back into his office. "I'll call you later," he said, repeating his promise from earlier that day. She wasn't holding her breath.

With a quick turn, she prepared her attack on Deputy Chief Blabbermouth. Even if Jed could dodge her anger, Josh wouldn't be so lucky. But he was squirrelly, and before she could lash out, he had scrambled halfway down the hall. "Ah – gotta go," he explained hastily. "Government stuff, you know – I'll – you know – "

His lanky body disappeared down the corridor, leaving her staring at Mrs. Fiderer, who smiled enigmatically and returned to her work.

With Jed engaged in whatever crisis Leo had brought him, Donna had no other option by to turn her attention on this latest complication. Who the hell could have blabbed her news to Josh?

"Margaret?"

Leo's secretary glanced up from her desk, initial smile of greeting sliding from her lips with one glance at her visitor.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bartlet," she said formally.

"Can it, Margaret," Donna ordered. "How could you?"

"How could I what?"

Donna didn't have the patience to play a game. "How could you tell anyone about – about – Moon Unit."

"Why do you think – "

"Josh just gave Jed a thumbs-up and a way-to-go."

Margaret's eyes widened. "Did the President figure out – "

"I don't think so." No thanks to you.

"I didn't tell Josh a thing," the secretary swore.

Right. "Then how did he know?"

"No idea."

"Margaret – "

"I promise. Not a word to Josh."

"Not a word?"

"Not a word."

Donna frowned. If it wasn't Margaret, then –

"And Sylvia promised she wouldn't – "

Ah ha. "Sylvia?"

"Braitswaith in legal. We can trust her – "

"WE? I trusted YOU, Margaret. Not Sylvia!"

"I'm sure she wouldn't tell anyone. Plus, she assured me that Carlos in Protocol can keep a secret – "

"Carlos!"

"And I'm certain that Carolyn – "

"Oh God," Donna groaned, running a hand through her hair, forgetting her anger in the face of the bigger debacle. "Everybody knows!"

"Except the President," Margaret pointed out helpfully.

Donna recovered enough to pin her with a glare. "Next time why don't you just rent space on one of those interstate traffic signs?" she asked.

Margaret tightened her lips as if considering the option, then raised a brow. "You know, it's not my business – "

"Really?"

" – but I think you just need to tell him."

She tried to deny it, tried to explain that she HAD been trying to tell him, but Margaret was right. Donna shook her head in defeat. Anger, frustration, helplessness. She couldn't fight all of them. "Okay," she conceded.

"Okay?"

"Okay." And she could only hope it really would be.

Debbie still held her post when Donna returned. As she drew closer to the secretary's desk, she fought to calm her pumping heart. Now was the time. Now, before she lost the lingering anger. Now, before her nerve deserted her. Now, before she became a banner behind Wolf Blitzer's head on CNN.

"Is he in?"

The secretary gave her the usual cockeyed perusal. Donna was never sure exactly what it meant, but Debbie had shown herself to be perceptive and compassionate and completely devoted to the President, so she didn't really worry about innuendos.

"He is, but the Canadian Prime Minister and his entourage are about to arrive."

Well, maybe now wasn't really the time. But Donna had psyched herself up and knew that if she didn't use that adrenaline, it might not return.

Carpe Deum. Seize the Day. Or the minute, as the case may be.

"I don't need long," she announced, ignoring the smirk and pushing through the door that both separated and connected him with the world.

He didn't look as if he was expecting VIP company. With his legs propped casually on the desk, shirt sleeves rolled back, and glasses perched on his nose, he had reverted to the professorial persona she had imagined him to have been 20 years before. Trying to ignore the dash of desire at the sight of those the strong forearms with their golden hair, she eased the door closed behind her.

He peered over his glasses, such a characteristic look that it drew an involuntary grin to her lips. She forced it back down and reminded herself what he had forgotten.

"Hey," he called, oblivious to her mood, letting his feet drop to the floor and tossing his glasses onto the papers he had been studying.

She returned his greeting and allowed the brief kiss he gave her after coming around to the front of the desk. "You busy?" she asked, knowing quite well the answer.

His shoulders lifted in apology. "Yeah. Canadian PM's on his way up."

"Too bad," she sighed, a little too loudly, a touch of selfish mischief guiding her words, "because I thought I might steal you away for a little – lunch." Her tone left no doubt about what the main course would be.

As expected, he swallowed and sighed himself. She tried to feel guilty, but didn't really. "Well," he croaked as her hand ran down his chest, "maybe Debbie can – "

"But the Canadian PM is on his way up, remember?" she pouted.

He grunted ruefully. "Damn Canada anyway. What the hell did they ever give us but a pretentious name for ham?"

"Well, they gave us William Shatner and Michael J. Fox," she supplied, unable to stifle the grin at her rare triumph in trivia.

Innocently, he added, "John Candy. Rick Moranis."

"Peter Jennings."

"Shania Twain."

"Beaver tails."

He paused. "Excuse me?"

"You've never had beaver tail?"

He hesitated, and the color rising in his cheeks drew a laugh from her.

"The pastry," she explained.

"Ah."

She suddenly realized that her resolve was weakening with their shared moment, with his charm. Gritting her teeth, she abandoned the misdirection the lightness had brought. It was time.

"Josiah," she began, and was guiltily satisfied by his flinch.

She could only remember two times she had used that name. Once was during her wedding vows. The other was when some grabby congresswoman was making a play for her husband. He knew she meant business.

"Donna?" he asked, his tone guarded against the abrupt mood swing.

"Sir?"

Damn it. Damn it! Debbie Fiderer had stuck her head in the door and smiled in apology.

Jed didn't turn as he answered. "Yeah?"

"The Prime Minister to see you."

He hesitated, and for a moment, she almost thought he would put off the Canadian leader, but after a beat, he dragged his gaze away from hers and nodded to the secretary. "Yeah. Okay, have him come in."

Unexpectedly though, he caught his wife's arm and said, "I won't be long. Stay."

Surprised, she could only nod and put on her best diplomatic face, greeting the Prime Minister side by side with her husband. The Canadian was just slightly taller than the American President, perhaps a half a decade younger, but he had not aged nearly as well. Donna found a strange pride in that. Nevertheless, his demeanor was pleasant, friendly.

The two leaders shook hands and sat as the senior staff filed in. If anyone thought it strange that the First lady was included in their discussion, they kept it to themselves. The topic centered on fishing rights along the coasts of Maine and Nova Scotia, but quickly devolved into a competition over who could really claim to be King of the Lobsters, or something like that.

Donna found herself drifting, running through the conversation she had not quite managed to have with her husband. I won't be long, he had said. She hoped not. After weeks of hedging, she was ready to face it, and the additional thirty minutes might just prove to be the most intolerable.

"In 1999," the Prime Minister was saying, "our courts ruled that natives have the right to fish year-round. After all, Nova Scotia lobster – "

" – can't compare with Maine lobster," the President interjected with a grin.

"Sir," Josh suggested, "I'm not sure there's a diff – "

Her nerves throbbed. Donna felt the words surging up into her throat and smashed them back down, but not without effort.

Across the room, Jed was smiling. "Of course there is, Josh. Do you know the scientific name for this crustacean?"

The deputy chief of staff grimaced, realizing what he had unleashed upon them all. Donna recognized the triumph in her husband's face.

"Homarus americanus. The American Lobster!" the President announced, standing so that he could argue without obstacles.

The words made another run, but Donna bested them once more – barely. She had to move, had to get out of there before she lost control in the midst of everyone else's obliviously innocuous conversation.

The Prime Minister pursed his lips, but recognized the good-natured ribbing for what it was. "If you will pardon me for saying so, Mister President, Canada IS part of 'America,' and Atlantic Canada is the world's largest producer of American lobster."

More bubbling. More smashing back.

"It's still the American – "

"I'm pregnant."

Silence, sudden and complete.

A beat.

More silence.

Oh God. Who said that? Who the hell said that? Well, so much for control.

Donna realized that six astonished sets of eyes stared at her. Mouths dropped in synchronization like a Busby Berkley dance line. C.J. gasped. Toby stared, one eyebrow cocked. Leo coughed. Josh stole a glance at the President.

Jed stood frozen, hand still raised in mid-gesticulation. He almost looked like his own robotic doppelganger from the Hall of Presidents at Disney World – but his face had paled too much to be even that realistic.

No one moved. No one spoke. The stark tick of the clock counted out ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

Finally, with a quick cough, C.J. Cregg stepped forward. "Congratulations!" she offered, her grin warm and genuine.

Donna thought she smiled back, wasn't sure.

But the press secretary's move broke the tension, and the Prime Minister took the liberty of following her lead. Gathering the stunned President's hand in both of his, he pumped enthusiastically. "Well, well! Congratulations, Mister President." With a nod her way, he added, "And, of course, Mrs. Bartlet. Well done! Well done, indeed."

Donna colored. Everyone else relaxed a bit and smiled their own good wishes.

Everyone except Jed.

He had not moved, and slowly the congratulatory remarks faded at that observation.

"Well," the Canadian leader said, clearing his throat, "I think I'll just get started on our end of this. If you'll excuse me – " He didn't wait for confirmation before he hurried out.

With a quick jerk of his chin, Jed silently ordered the rest of them from the room. They filed out obediently, faces a mixture of pleasure and confusion as they tried to assess their President's unexpected mood.

C.J. threw her a supportive smile as she passed. Leo glanced between his boss and her before he allowed himself to exit.

Swallowing hard, she turned toward her husband and searched his face. He held her gaze, face carefully masked.

After a long moment, he asked, "What did you say?"

What do you mean, what did I say, she wanted to snap, but knew he only said that to buy himself more time.

She met his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant?" he repeated.

She nodded. He didn't want anymore children. She knew that his own moral stand against abortion would prevent any such suggestion. And she wouldn't do it anyway, even if it didn't. Her resolve almost vanished in the face of his anticipated reaction.

He doesn't want more children, she reminded herself. He forgot our anniversary.

After a very long silence, accompanied by an unreadable stare, he shifted a bit and stepped forward, his brow lowering. It took only a few paces to reach her, and as he did, his hands came up, gripped her upper arms hard. She stiffened, heart racing.

"Jed?" she asked cautiously, wondering just how angry he was going to be.

"Donna – " he ground out between gritted teeth, pulling her closer so that they were almost nose to nose.

She could do nothing but wait. Wait for his next move. Wait for his anger. Wait for her retort.

But his next move was not what she expected. Not at all. Slowly, his grip relaxed, and he let the few inches separating them close.

Then he kissed her.

He kissed not with the strength of irritation or even anger, but with the infinite tenderness of love.

His lips move slowly on hers as his hands slid down her arms to end up entwining their fingers. When he finally pulled back, the adoration that burned in his eyes brought a soft sob to her throat.

"I love you," he whispered, then leaned in to kiss her again. "I love you so much."

Relief and joy and love swept through her, rushing into her brain, dissolving the fear, the disappointment, the anger. With a happy cry, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed against him, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Pregnant?" he asked gently, pulling back to look at her and let a thumb brush away a tear.

She nodded again.

After a beat, he said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." He smiled that smile that answered any doubts she had.

And suddenly it was okay, just like that.

Suddenly, he was forgiven for forgetting their anniversary, excused for spending long hours at work. Later, they would talk. Later, she would bring up the rest, but not now. Now, as she let his arms enclose her and their baby, it didn't matter so much.

For now.


	4. Charmed

Thanks for your feedback. Enjoy this Jed/Donna. Next time I visit them, I'll be my mean self again with a real crisis.

On the Wall – Epilogue

A _West Wing_ Story

_As I Was Drifting Away_ Series

By MAHC

POV: Donna

Spoilers: "H-Con 172" (minor)

Rating: Mature

Disclaimer: Except for J.T., these are not my characters.

His strong, square hands slid over her hips, his touch burning her skin. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the exquisite sensation. Pushing into his touch, she urged him to move faster and clutched at his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his waist.

Her heart pounded, her limbs trembled, her neck arched, forcing her head back into the pillow. He thrust harder, his breath quickening, his eyes tightening. She felt him surge inside her, her body answering his with powerful waves of pleasure.

With an agonized cry, he called out, "Donna!"

She answered, his name on her lips.

"Donna!" he groaned again. "Donna!"

"Donna?"

"Donna?"

Donnatella Moss Bartlet blinked once, then twice, and breathlessly pulled herself from the delicious fantasy that had removed her from reality for a few pleasant moments. She looked up, expecting to see her chief of staff, but, to her chagrin, none other than Zoey Bartlet stood in front of her desk, a curious smile curving her lips.

Oh God. Even though she knew her step-daughter had no concept of the sensuous thoughts that had heated her brain, Donna flushed. There she was, envisioning herself making passionate love to this girl's father, something Donna was certain Zoey would not care to know.

Clearing her mind as best she could of the visions, and trying to calm her body's reaction to them, Donna smiled up at the younger woman. "Hi." She hoped that sounded believably casual.

"What's up?" Zoey returned, her auburn hair bouncing with the energy of youth.

She pondered that question. Truth be told, nothing was up – except perhaps her dream-world Jed, and he sure wasn't doing her much good. Her afternoon sucked. Instead of spending a romantic first anniversary with her husband, who apparently had yet to catch on, there she was sitting alone at her desk, forced to fall back on erotic fantasies of the man she should have been experiencing the real thing with.

Of course, Zoey didn't want to – or need to – hear that, so Donna just shrugged. "Not much."

"You got time to talk?"

A warmth flowed through her at the evidence of the bond they had established over the past year. Smiling fondly, she nodded. "Sure."

"I hear congratulations are in order." Zoey said right off the bat, grinning her father's grin.

Well, it certainly wasn't a secret anymore, not after she had blurted it out in front of the senior staff and the Canadian Prime Minister. For an answer, Donna smirked and raised her eyebrows.

"Heck of a way to break the news." All the Bartlets were gifted with understatement.

"Yeah, I guess it was."

"I'm sure Dad's pumped, though."

Pumped? Well –

She'd had such limited time with Jed after her abrupt announcement that she really couldn't make a true assessment of his feelings. He had said, "Okay, " told her he loved her, and smiled. That didn't really constitute pumped.

But she smiled for Zoey and nodded. "Yeah."

The youngest Bartlet daughter didn't seem to notice her hesitation. "Yeah. Listen, I have a favor to ask. Can, uh, can we go up to the residence? This is kinda – personal."

Personal? Donna had been in only a few truly personal conversations with her step-daughter, one of which had revealed disturbing secrets of Jed's volatile relationship with his father. She wasn't sure she was ready for any equally troubling revelations just yet. Still, she would rather know than not.

They walked through the East Wing side-by-side, two sets of secret service agents following far enough behind to afford them at least a semblance of privacy.

"So, what's going on?" Donna asked, shooting for some mid-range tone between concerned and casual.

"Boys," Zoey murmured shyly.

"Boys?" Donna grinned in relief. This maybe she could handle. "Or one boy?"

Zoey's eyes darted to the side as if she were afraid her father might be lurking in the wings. "One boy," she admitted, coloring.

"Charlie?" That wasn't too hard to guess. They headed up the stairs.

She nodded. "He wants to – get together again, says he's the man for me."

Personally, Donna had always thought the two fit well together, but she hesitated to give Zoey advice that was too pointed. "What do you say?"

They had reached the residence floor and walked toward the grand window at the end of the hall.

"He's sweet and cute, and he loves me."

"Do you love him?"

Instead of answering, Zoey asked her a question. "How did you know – about Dad, I mean? How did you know you loved him?"

She choked a bit, caught herself, unable to dissolve the vision of Zoey having this conversation with the one who had rightfully earned it – Abigail Bartlet. But Abbey wasn't there – and Zoey had asked her a question, one that she could answer.

She thought back to that moment when the revelation had struck, when the concept of love – of loving him – had sunk in. It was in the throes of making love – she wouldn't add that detail – and she had been so stunned that he had stopped and looked down at her, concern in those adorable blue eyes.

"I knew I loved your father when I found myself unable to think of anything or anyone else. I would try to work – to finish a report – and all I saw were his eyes, all I heard was his voice, all I felt was – " She blushed. "Well, you get the idea. And there was an ache at the center of my chest when I couldn't see him – or be with him. It sounds pretty cliché, but I really did yearn just to be in the same room." She paused, wondering if she sounded like an idiot. "Is that goofy?"

Zoey shook her head, smiling. "No. Not goofy at all."

"I want to tell him everything. I want him to be the first person I see in the morning and the last person I see at night."

Maybe the touch of melancholy in her eyes was too easily seen, because Zoey laid a hand on her arm and said, "Doesn't always work that way, does it?"

"No," Donna admitted. "But we try."

"He's been pretty busy lately."

"Yeah."

"So, today's totally sucked, huh?"

"Like you said, he's been busy." Wasn't this supposed to be Zoey confiding in her, not the other way around?

"Yeah." Zoey gave her an impulsive hug, then pulled back before it could get too emotional. "He loves you very much, Donna. You and J.T."

"I know." And she did, even past the current disappointment in him. A sudden urge to confide in her step-daughter pushed at her, overcame her. "Zoey, I'm not sure if you know that, well, that J.T. was – that your father and I were – "

The younger woman smiled, no judgment in her tone. "Dad told me about – your relationship, even before you married."

Donna tried not to show her surprise.

"I also know he proposed before either of you knew you were pregnant."

"He did," she confirmed.

"He also told me that you almost left him."

Donna flinched, bracing for a child's angry protection of her father. "Not because I wanted to," she rushed in assurance. "It was because – "

"He told me that, too. Did you think he would really let you go? He's pretty possessive with people he loves."

"Yeah." After a beat, Donna asked her question again. "Zoey, do you love Charlie?"

"Yeah," she admitted quietly.

They paused at the bedroom door, and Donna placed her hand on her step-daughter's shoulder. "Charlie is a good man. Good men are hard to find." A rueful shadow touched her eyes. "I know. I almost let a very good man go, but thank God he was too stubborn to let me make the biggest mistake of my life."

Zoey smiled softly.

"Let's go inside," Donna suggested, wrapping her hand around the doorknob.

But Zoey suddenly stepped back. "Oh, that's okay. I'm fine now. Thanks for the talk."

"But – " A little off balance by the unexpected shift, Donna hesitated. Maybe she had been too frank, had shared more than Zoey wanted to know. "But don't you want to see J.T.?" That usually was a given for the doting big sister.

"Oh," Zoey said, "Josh and Toby have him."

"Josh and Toby?" Oh God.

"I think they are using him to pick up girls at Union Station."

"What?" Sounded possible.

"I'm kidding. They just wanted to give you and – " She stopped suddenly and cleared her throat. "To give us a chance to talk. But maybe you'll feel better to know that C.J. and Margaret are with them. He's not wanting for attention."

She had no doubt of that, but was disappointed at the news that not only would she miss the company of her husband – on their anniversary, no less – but she wouldn't even have their son for companionship. "Well – "

"Okay," Zoey shot back, turning before Donna even finished. "See you later." Why did she have the uneasy feeling her step-daughter had just blown her off?

Sighing, Donna turned back toward the door and stared at it for a moment, not sure she really wanted to go in. This was, after all, her anniversary, an evening she should be sharing with her husband. But duty had called again, and despite his profuse apologies, he had vanished off to the Sit Room with Leo and Admiral Fitzwallace, telling her not to wait up for him.

Allowing a stroke of pity to touch her, she slid her hand over the doorknob and slowly turned it.

Damn.

The door swung open and the first thing she registered was music playing – "Moon River," if she wasn't mistaken. The second thing was that a table had been set, resplendent with White House china and crystal, ivory candles casting a soft glow over the scene. Except for more candles by the bed, the rest of the room lay in darkness. As she entered, she smelled the sweet scent of roses and noticed that petals had been scattered across the floor and over the bed, where the covers had been folded back invitingly.

A soft rustle from behind spun her around.

"Jed?" she called tentatively, even though she knew he wasn't supposed to be there.

"Good evening," a warm, rich voice answered.

She peered into the darkness, trying to adjust her eyes.

He stood in the corner near the fireplace, and in the low light, she couldn't quite make him out clearly. But the voice was unmistakable.

"Andy Williams?" she asked. "Isn't that a little geeky?"

"You like geeky." Not a question.

"I do." Also not a question.

"What are you doing here?" That _was_ a question, a most logical one.

"You were expecting Tom Cruise?" he wondered, humor clear in his tone. He still had not moved from the shadows.

She wanted to tell him that Tom Cruise paled in comparison to her husband, wanted to run into his arms just for being there, but she couldn't – and didn't want to – shake the anger, still hurt that he hadn't remembered. Until now, apparently. Someone had told him, obviously, and now he was attempting to make amends. Well, she'd let him – later, maybe.

"I thought you had a meeting. I had planned a nice evening alone. Just me and a DVD of _Top Gun_."

"Yeah?"

"Sure," she returned, as casually as possible. "Isn't Leo waiting for you somewhere?" That was a little sharp, but she didn't try to soften it.

"No."

"Well, he'll be along later then." She knew also that the possibility was all too real. "He always seems to know – "

Her words cut off as he stepped into the light. Oh my. The man did look good in a tuxedo, she allowed, letting her eyes scan down his body, over the crisp lapels, the perfect tie, the neat cummerbund, the pressed trousers. Yes, very good.

"I don't think so," he said. "I'm booked for the evening. I have an engagement with my wife." She caught her breath at the heat of his gaze.

"How about you engage with me instead?" she teased, throwing back just as much heat, despite her intentions to give him a little punishment.

He shrugged. "She might not like that. She's pretty jealous."

"She should be," Donna returned, moving around the table so that nothing separated them.

She had not planned on stepping into his embrace, had not intended to let him kiss her, but that's what happened, anyway. It was tender, soft, full of love, and maybe apology.

When he pulled back, he left his hand cupping her cheek. "I know we haven't had much time lately – "

He extended his other hand, and she could make out a dark, velvet case resting in his palm. As she reached out for it, their fingers touched, and she almost jumped at the desire that sparked between them.

"Happy Anniversary," he said.

Well, better late than never – maybe. But he looked so sweet, so loving, that she had little difficulty pressing down the lingering disappointment. For a moment, she stared at the case.

"Open it," he prompted, allowing himself a caress across the back of her hand.

"You remembered," she breathed, on the verge of forgiveness now.

Feigned shock crossed his face, and he placed a hand over his heart. "I am hurt, my dear, that you would even consider that I wouldn't."

"Shame on me," she agreed graciously.

He gestured to the box again. "Open it," he reminded.

Smiling, she lifted the lid of the case and gasped. The flickering candlelight caught a sparkle of gold and sapphire nestled in the soft lining. Her eyes widened.

Nice save, Mister President, she conceded. Very nice save.

"It's gorgeous," she declared, envisioning the frantic hustle to find a gift after he had somehow discovered his faux pas.

Not letting him completely off the hook – although the bracelet had gone a long way in redeeming him – she asked, "Was it Leo or Margaret?"

"Was what Leo or Margaret?"

"Who reminded you?"

"Reminded me of what?"

"It's all right," she allowed, feeling rather magnanimous. "I know you've been busy."

But the earlier feigned hurt in his face slid into genuine disappointment. "Donna," he asked, "did you really think I had forgotten?"

He didn't need to protest. She had absolved him, after all. Still, she assured him, "I'm serious. It's really okay – "

"You think I didn't – "

"Well – "

Suddenly, she realized why he was so hurt by her accusation. He had forgotten. He had _forgotten_. And she had pointed it out, had questioned his memory. Had brought home the possibility that he forgot because of the specter that had haunted him for a decade every single time his memory failed him. Was this a signal? Was this the beginning?

Damn it.

Paling, she berated herself for her own insensitivity, tried to backpedal. "I didn't mean – you really have been busy – "

But instead of anger, instead of hurt, she received only a soft smile. "Baby," he assured her, eyes tender, "I could never be so busy that I forgot the day that made me whole again."

Okay. Throw back the sheets; she was his. Even if that was a line, it was a damn good line.

"Jed – "

"What's Zoey up to?" he asked abruptly.

"What?" Zoey? Oh yeah. "She said wanted to talk about – "

His headshake finally slapped the comprehension into her. Zoey. A private talk. About boys. No, not about boys. About them. About Jed and her.

"She set me up, huh?" Donna realized. His smile answered her question "She was your accomplice. This engagement was a conspiracy."

And a very nice conspiracy it was, too. She could forgive him for forgetting. And she showed him by kissing him, hard. He reacted with equal fervor. It didn't matter if he had forgotten. She would make sure this night was so memorable he would never forget it.

He eased a hand around her waist, pulled her closer and drew her mouth to his again. The passion and love blended to create a deep longing within her. Desire surged at the pit of her belly as his lips trailed down her throat to press hot against those swelling breasts.

"We're missing our anniversary dinner," she reminded, not very convincingly.

"I'd rather start with dessert," he murmured against her skin.

Sounded like a good idea. Plus she didn't have the will – or the inclination – to protest. Instead, she pushed her hips against his, sighing to feel his arousal pulse between their bodies.

She held him close, and all those emotions she described to Zoey rushed back: the yearning, the ache, the heat. They pushed so hard against her heart that she almost couldn't breathe. With one hand, she pulled the jacket off him, with the other she opened his shirt and jerked off the cummerbund. Her fingers tore through his thick hair, her lips left marks on his shoulder, her leg wrapped around him possessively. They stumbled to the bed, falling on the covers.

She crawled on top of him, straddling his hips, groaning at the shot of pleasure as he surged against her. Pushing his shirt out of the way, she leaned down to suck on his nipples, her hair brushing over his chest. He fumbled with the top buttons of her dress, tugging them apart and letting her full breasts rest in his palms. She felt her milk let down with the sensation, but didn't try to stop it.

Her fingers skimmed his torso, settling on the generous bulk that strained against his trousers. His eyes closed as she rubbed along the thick length, his jaw clenched as she squeezed firmly. Urging him to lift his hips, she dragged his pants down, enjoying how he filled out the new boxer-briefs. She had mentioned to him that she preferred them over his plain boxers, and he had restocked his wardrobe to oblige her.

But tonight she didn't have the patience to admire them too long, and soon they had joined the trousers. She grunted in satisfaction when his freed erection fell heavily into her grasp and smiled at his groaned protest when she released him. But the protest didn't last long. Standing before him, she reached back and unzipped her dress, letting it slide from her body to reveal the lace black and red bra and garter belt she had purchased for the occasion.

"Oh, Donna," he croaked, running his fingers across her thigh. "My god, you are beautiful."

"Happy Anniversary," she said.

With a groan, he pulled her back to him, suckled at her breast, and tugged her panties down, brushing over her most sensitive area. Turning her onto her right side so that she faced away from him, he urged her left leg up. Shivering with anticipation over what was coming, she placed her hand over his and guided him to his familiar home.

"J-e-e-d," she moaned at the first stretch of his entry. All of her thoughts focused on that one spot where he burned deeper and deeper inside her.

She closed her eyes and envisioned what their coupling looked like, reaching her left arm back to clutch at his shoulder. His right arm lay beneath her, bent at the elbow so he could hold her tighter against his body.

With his left arm, he braced her leg and began his slow thrusts in and out, deep, then shallow. It took only few moments for their bodies to grow slick with their arousals. She moaned as the thrusts increased in speed and power.

"You are so beautiful," he gasped at her ear. "Beautiful."

She tried to answer, but managed only a moan as he twisted his hips. The tightness grew, strangled any other sensation except the one of intense and almost unbearable pleasure. Donna arched back, reveling in the pure physical contact, his flesh meeting her flesh, his sweat mingling with her sweat. His breath caught, and she knew from experience that he was close. She slid her left hand down to touch where they joined, to let her fingers run over him when he withdrew. The move drew an agonized moan from him, and he pumped hard, almost desperately, so hard that he drove the breath from her body, and she couldn't keep the gasp from escaping.

"Oh, hell," he bit out suddenly, body stopping.

"What?" She tried to twist, to search his face for distress, but he held her, pushed back in more gently.

"I'm sorry – the baby. I'm being too rough."

Sometimes he was the most marvelous man. "No," she promised. "Please don't stop. You feel so good." God, did he feel good.

That was enough. His fingers left prints on her alabaster skin. His chest molded to her back. His hips bucked against her buttocks. "Donna," he warned, voice almost in pain. "I can't – "

"Don't," she urged. "I want to feel you come inside me. I want to feel it so much."

His body trembled as he obeyed, hard bursts punching deep within her, over and over, spreading the rich seed until it overflowed between them as her own muscles exploded around him, clenching and unclenching wildly through the last explosions of ecstasy.

She came back to awareness still spooned in his embrace, and grinned tiredly when she realized she still held him inside her. For several minutes, they simply lay together, breath calming, skin cooling. Finally, he stirred slightly and brushed his lips against her hair.

"How far?" he murmured, fingers splayed protectively over her belly.

It took some effort to stir from her haze of satisfaction. "Hmm?"

"How far along are you?"

"Oh. Um, fourteen weeks."

She felt his breathing change, his muscles tense, and she looked back into blue eyes that had suddenly cooled. "Fourteen weeks?" His voice almost cracked.

Margaret's message flew back to her. _Tell him soon_. Damn it.

He moved his arm from under her and withdrew, turning her in his embrace. "You are three and a half months pregnant and you haven't told me yet?"

But she wasn't sure how to answer, wasn't at all positive she should share that she knew he really hadn't planned on another baby, didn't want to strain the renewed bond. Too late, now, though.

Drawing a stabilizing breath, she confessed. "I didn't think you – I know that you don't – I know what you've been trying to tell me about – about having more children."

He frowned. "What I've been trying to tell you?"

"I know you think I would be burdened if you – if you – "

"Donna – "

"But I want more than anything to have your children – "

His mouth on hers stopped the babbling. When he finally pulled back, he shook his head. "What on earth are you talking about? Is that why you didn't – "

Donna lowered her eyes as comprehension drained the blood from his face.

"My God," he groaned, "you thought I didn't want – I didn't want another child?"

She stared at him, having no idea how to respond. Of course she thought he didn't want another child. Was he saying that he did?

He ran a hand roughly through his hair. "Did you think I wouldn't be ecstatic about another baby?"

Well –

"Donna, you and J.T. have given me a new lease on life. Can't you see that?"

Joy shot through her, but she couldn't keep the frown from marring that emotion. "But, you said – you said you didn't think I should have more children." There, it was out. He couldn't pretend it hadn't happened.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Two weeks ago. You tried to tell me, but Leo came and – I heard, though. I knew what you meant, but by that time, I was already – "

He sat abruptly, eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed tight. After a moment, he looked back at her. "That's what you thought I was going to say? You thought I was saying that I didn't want – " A sad, tight smile curved his lips. "I thought you knew me better than that, Donna."

Yeah, well, so had she.

"You didn't – you didn't mean – "

"Of course not. Oh Lord, of course not." He pulled her to him, cradled her body against his, not in lust, not in passion, but in love, in tenderness. "Donna, I love you and J.T. more than anything else in this world. I told you when we brought him home from the hospital that I liked the feeling. Remember?"

She bit back the tears the threatened and collapsed into his offered embrace. When they pulled apart, he stretched over her to the nightstand and picked up the jewelry case.

"Look at it," he prompted, offering it again.

He was proud of the gift, she could tell, and she wanted to show him how much it meant to her. Keeping her eyes on him, she lifted the bracelet, a bit startled at the weight of it. It was obvious a very fine piece, and probably quite expensive.

"It's beautiful," she told him again.

But he shook his head impatiently and urged, "_Look_ at it."

Holding it up to the candlelight, she let her gaze scan it a little more thoroughly and for the first time noticed two charms hanging from the loop. One was engraved with the name John Thomas and his birth date. Very sweet. She could not see anything written on the other one.

Wait, her brain commanded. The _other_ one? _Two_ charms?

Stunned, she stared at him, mouth dropping. "When did you do this?" she asked.

He shrugged. "While I was in New York for the governor's fundraiser. I took a little side trip to Harry Winston. Thought there might be something there that you would like. The blue of the sapphire suits you."

New York? "That was three weeks ago," she remembered.

"It took their designer a while to create it, so I sent Charlie back up to get it last week. You know how anal they are in the mailroom about packages."

"Designer?"

"Yeah."

"You had this made – for me?"

"Well, it sure wasn't for Leo." Those eyes sparkled.

Realization dawned. "You – you knew?"

He shrugged and smiled apologetically, placing a hand over her abdomen. "Donna, did you think I would not notice the changes in your body? I know every curve, each beautiful inch." His hand traced over her skin. "The glow of your cheeks, the swell of your belly, the fullness of your breasts. I would have to be blind not to see."

She stared at him, still not totally comprehending. "You knew."

"Yes," he answered simply.

"About the baby?"

"Yes."

"And our anniversary?"

He smiled, stroking her shoulder. "Yes."

"You already had all of this planned?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't – why didn't you say anything?"

A slight shrug lifted his shoulders. "You seemed to want to tell me yourself. I didn't want to ruin the surprise."

For a moment she couldn't decide whether to be furious with him or with herself. She chose the latter.

"I'm a fool," she decided.

He dipped to nibble at her chin. "No. I am, for not seeing that you thought – " He flinched a little and she felt the guilt wash over her. "How could you think – " But then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter now." His lips slid to her throat, sucked gently.

Her head leaned back, inviting his caresses when something occurred to her, something that had not yet been resolved.

"What was it then?" she whispered, barely able to form the words.

He didn't bother lifting his head. "What was what?"

He had reached that spot below her ear, that spot that destroyed her willpower almost every time. She fought to finish her thought. "Uh, what was it – God that feels good – what was it that you were trying to – I can't think when you do that."

"Don't need to think," he murmured, adding his hands to combat her.

With a surge of strength, she managed to break away from his spell. Breath coming hard, she said, "What was it you were trying to tell me when you said you didn't think I should do something?"

That stopped him cold, pulled him away from her. Uncharacteristically, he blushed and threaded fingers through his hair. "Nothing," he attempted with absolutely no success.

"Liar."

He knew it, too. "It – uh – it doesn't matter."

"It certainly does."

"Really," he insisted, making an attempt to move back and nuzzle her throat. Dirty pool. "It was just a thought."

"What thought?" she managed as the chill bumps scattered across her skin again.

"I don't think that now – "

"Jed – "

Apparently accepting that she was determined, he winced, withdrew, and Donna found herself bracing for whatever he was about to tell her. "I just thought that if I – if I died while J.T. – " He stopped and amended his words, " – while the children were young – "

She couldn't stop the flinch at the thought. "Jed – "

But he touched a finger to her lips. "I was going to say that I don't think you should discount – " Another sigh stopped him. He re-grouped. "That there is someone who – I believe – would be – uh – "

Despite her itching curiosity, she couldn't suppress a smirk at his uncharacteristic ineloquence.

"If something happened, Donna, I know that – he would – "

Oh for Pete's sake. "Would _what_?"

"Take care of you."

"_Who_?"

He dropped his gaze. "Josh."

Josh.

Josh?

"What?" She could have tried guessing for months and never happened upon that particular revelation. Josh? He was telling he that Josh – Oh my God, she realized, he was giving Josh and her his blessing.

Sitting, he took both of her hands in his. "It's practical, Donna. He – he loves you. I've seen it since you came to work for us."

"Josh?"

"I know he would be kind, and he would take care of you and J.T." He smiled sheepishly and placed his hand on her belly again. "And Moon Unit."

Josh?

Oh dear God, she thought. Dear God. This was what he –

Irritation warred with relief. An incredulous frown burrowed between her brows. She loved Josh, yes, but not in that way. And who the hell was he to decide –

"Josiah Bartlet," she declared, "you are a fool."

"What?"

"You," she repeated, "are a fool."

Instead of taking offense, though, he arched a brow. "I thought we had already established that. I believe I am a self-admitted fool, in fact."

"You have just conceived two children in a year and you think it's time to pick out my next husband?"

His confidence faltered visibly. "It seemed like a good idea at the – "

"What if I don't want Josh?"

He frowned, his plan disintegrating in the face of her own desires. "But – "

"What if I want Toby?"

"Toby!" Now the tone grew affronted. Served him right.

She pushed her advantage. "Or Will? Or what about Haffley?"

He stood, unconcerned with his state of undress, and placed his hands on his hips. "Will? Haffley? My God, Donna, are you – " But the grin she couldn't keep from slipping across her lips halted his burgeoning tirade, and she saw the chagrin color his strong features.

"I repeat, 'fool'," she said quietly.

"Touche," he conceded, then took her hands again, squeezed them firmly. "Donna, I was just trying – I was trying to find someone to make you happy."

She stood, too, letting her fingers disengage from his and crawl up his chest. "I've found him, already," she cooed, leaning in to flick her tongue across his lips.

"Not Josh?" he asked, part in mischief, part in all seriousness.

"Not Josh," she assured him, then grinned wickedly. "Unless you're suggesting a ménage 'a' trois."

Surprise flashed across his face before he could suppress it, but he recovered gamely. "In that case, I'll definitely have to find someone else. Margaret, maybe?"

"Margaret!" It was out before she knew it. Damn him. "Okay," she admitted. "I surrender."

"Seriously – "

"No. Only you, Jed Bartlet. I intend on keeping you around for a very long time. How much room is there on that bracelet for charms, anyway?"

He raised a brow.

"Just in case." Her own brow bounced once.

He kissed her. "Let's find out."

"Okay. No more talking for a while."

"But – "

"Shut up," she ordered as she let her tongue push into his mouth.

He grunted something unintelligible, and she pulled back. "What?"

"I said," he repeated more clearly, "I'm the President. You can't talk to me like that."

"How about if I talk to you like this: Mister President, I love you and I want to make love to you and I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel you hard and hot between my legs."

She smiled as his body acquiesced immediately.

"Can I talk to you like that?"

Voice hoarse and strained, he assured her, "Not a problem."

He took her hand and guided her back to the bed. Although it was tempting to lose herself in his heat, she had one more thing to say. "Jed?"

Busy fulfilling her request, he answered absently, "Hmm?"

"You think it will be a girl this time?" Her own voice thickened as he nudged at her entrance once more, teasing her by holding back.

A grunt preceded his answer. "I learned my lesson with J.T. No more predictions."

"But if it is – "

"Ten fingers, ten toes," he insisted, just before his mouth came back down on hers.

She had been ready to offer him the name again, prepared to christen their daughter after someone who should logically be a barrier between them, but whose memory had actually drawn them closer

"I love you," she whispered, opening to him again.

"I love you, Donna," he answered, easing in, and the tremulous emotion in his voice drew tears to her eyes. "I love you so very much, and I love J.T." He rubbed her belly gently. "And I love Moon Unit – or Theodore – or Isis – "

"Or Abigail."

He hesitated and swallowed, his eyes watering, too. "Or Abigail," he echoed, touching her face.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, braced his arms on either side of her. "Now, you had a request of the President, I believe." The hard pulse inside wasn't necessary to remind her.

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "Yes, indeed."

They may not fill up the charm bracelet. They may not even add more charms, but at that moment she knew she would never again doubt his love for the ones already on it – or for her.

The future was – well, the future. But the present – right then, the present was enough.


End file.
